


Extreme Cluedo: Christmas Edition

by shadowsamurai



Category: Waking the Dead (TV)
Genre: Christmas, Crack, F/M, Family, Fluff, Friendship, Gen, Humor, Parody, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-09
Updated: 2012-07-09
Packaged: 2017-11-09 12:19:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 12,112
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/455384
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shadowsamurai/pseuds/shadowsamurai
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's Christmas, but there's still a case to be solved, and a rather fiendish one at that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. 12 Crimes Committed

**Author's Note:**

> Based on the '12 Days of Christmas' song, but totally crazy. OOC intentional. Originally posted Christmas 2009.

Disclaimer: I don't own anything, I'm just borrowing things for a while and I promise I'll put everything back exactly how I found it when I've finished. Well, almost exactly how I found it. ;)

WtD-WtD-WtD-WtD-WtD-WtD

*26th December, Boxing Day, 9am, CCHQ*

Frankie was not in a good mood. Not only was she in the office on Boxing Day *('I mean,'* she thought in exasperation, *'It's* Boxing Day. *It's the holiday of, like, big proportions where we…sit around and watch the telly and eat and…throw out…all…the boxes…yeah, it's a holiday, that's the main thing. Holidays are important, seconded only by sex and chocolate,')* but the coffee machine wasn't working. Not that the slop it dished out was anything remotely like coffee (not even its nephew twice removed), but there was a still a partial residue of caffeine somewhere in the liquid.

Mel wasn't in a good mood either, much for the same reasons as Frankie, with the added bugger of being roused before midday during a holiday `*('I mean,'* she thought, *'It's a holiday, for God's sake').*

Spencer was too hungover to feel anything but hungover, and for some reason his foot hurt, but not as much as his head, and he was too hungover to concentrate on anything but pain, in his head and foot.

And Grace…well, Grace was arguing with Boyd as they entered the squad room, to the utter amazement of the team. Yes, they were shocked because Grace was doing all the yelling and Boyd was looking like a meek lamb; difficult to imagine, and because of that, Spencer leant towards Mel.

"Pinch me," he murmured. "I'm seeing things."

Mel nipped his arm carefully, but Frankie, thinking he was talking to her, grabbed an inch of spare tyre from around his waist, causing Spencer to yelp in protest and jump off the desk he had been sat on, almost as though someone had attacked his buttocks with a rather hot poker. Unfortunately, his balance was totally off (a ship rolling around in heavy, stormy seas had more stability than Spencer at that point) and he ended up in a heap on the floor, staring at the ceiling and wondering how he got there, having forgotten already.

"Spence, get up," Boyd told him. "You're making the place look untidy."

"Do you mind telling us exactly why we're here at…." Mel looked at her watch. "…Exactly thirteen and a half minutes past nine o'clock on Boxing Day morning?"

"Why? Did you have plans?" Boyd retorted.

Mel huffed. "Well, no, but that's not the point."

"What is?" Boyd asked. "And who broke the coffee machine?"

"It was like that when we got in," Frankie told him.

Grace dug into her bag (which was really the Tardis cleverly disguised as a bag) and pulled out a large flask and five mugs, and her diary (she had to make a note to return the Tardis to the Doctor later, when she'd finished with it…in several years or so).

"Always be prepared," Grace announced brightly, handing the caffeine-potent liquid around.

"Don't suppose you've got any bacon sarnies in there, have you, Grace?" Boyd asked.

Mel leant over Spencer, who was still lying on the floor, and waved a mug, sending coffee smells right up his nose. "Oh, nectar of the Gods," the DI muttered, sitting up and gulping the scalding hot liquid down quickly. "Oh, my head hurts. Hangover. And my foot. Why does my foot hurt?"

"I don't know, I'll ask it," Mel replied, then turned and looked at Spencer's foot. "Spencer's foot, why are you sore?"

"I don't know, but unless you want Spencer's eyeballs imprinted on your arse, Mel, I'd move," Frankie told her friend.

Mel jumped and glared at Spencer. "Spence! Do you mind?"

"Not really," he replied, shrugging. "I'm a bloke. What do you expect me to do?"

"Not stare at my arse, thank you," Mel said huffily.

"But it's such a fine arse. I mean, there's not much in the way of scenery around here really…." Spencer stopped. "Oh, shit. Boss, help me?"

Boyd snorted with laughter. "Not a chance."

"Children, you can fight later," Grace said, holding a hand up as Frankie and Mel started to advance on Spencer with murderous intentions, thoughts and expressions. "We were called in for a reason, right, Boyd?"

Boyd nodded. "Right, Grace. Thank you."

"Any time."

"They're being civilised to each other now," Frankie muttered. "Should we be worried?"

Mel nodded. "Probably."

Boyd glared them all into silence. "Alright, yesterday a series of crimes were committed by what seems to be the same person…."

"Wait, why are we investigating this?" Frankie interrupted. "It's not old, it's not cold…."

"Everyone else is on holiday and apparently, the commissioner feels we don't have lives outside of work," Boyd replied flatly.

"He's not much wrong," Spencer muttered.

"Anyway, we've been asked to work the case and that is what we're going to do. Okay? Is everyone clear on at least that?" Boyd asked.

The team chorused "Yes" in a perfect pitch somewhere between a high A and a low E.

"Good. Now, here's what we know. Twelve crimes were committed," Boyd said, reading from a sheet of paper. "4 murders, 3 counts of arson, 3 theft, and 2 counts of extortion. And we've got these…." He waved a sheaf of photos about. "So, Spence, if you would be so kind…second thoughts, Mel, can you do?"

Spencer had risen, wobbled dangerous, and fallen back onto his chair. Mel rolled her eyes, grabbed the photos from Boyd, leaving paper cuts all over his hand, and walked to the nice clean, clear plastic board thingy.

TBC


	2. 11 Photos on the Board

WtD-WtD-WtD-WtD-WtD-WtD

*26th December, Boxing Day, 10am, CCHQ*

Mel finished putting the photos on the board with a flourish. It had taken her longer than normal because she was trying to arrange them into a pleasant shape to hide the horror they portrayed. Unfortunately, she couldn't decide on a shape. The rest of the team had grown tired of waiting for Mel to finish and had retreated to various places in the office.

Spencer was hiding in Grace's room, catching forty (or a hundred and forty) winks to help with his hangover, while Grace was hiding in plain sight in Boyd's room, still yelling at him for some unknown reason. Frankie was trying to repair the coffee machine; needless to say, the coffee machine was winning.

"Finished!" Mel called triumphantly.

"Thank God for that," Frankie muttered. "Thought we were going to grow old and grey waiting for you to…." She stared at the board. "That's it?"

Mel nodded. "Yep. Isn't it great?"

Frankie mumbled incoherently and buried her face into her hands. "Spence!" she managed to speak out quite clearly. "Got any alcohol about?"

"Don't mention alcohol," Spencer groaned, coming in the squad room. "I never want to see a pint of beer aga…." He stopped. "What is that?"

"It looks like a smiley face," Grace told him, making him jump.

Boyd stared at the profiler. "Really? I thought it looked more like a pair of…."

"Why don't you talk us through the photos, Mel?" Grace suggested loudly. Behind her back, Spencer gave Boyd a high five.

Mel rolled her eyes. "Boys. Alright, these are the crime scene photos."

"How did we get them so quickly?" Frankie asked.

"We don't ask things like that," Boyd said.

"You mean you don't know."

"That too."

"There are eleven photos, no more, no less," Mel said. "These four show the murder scene from different angles…."

"Looks like a kitchen," Spencer stated.

Grace clapped. "Give the man a coconut."

"These four show the murder victims, and no, we don't have names yet," Mel continued. "And these three detail the arson attempts."

Boyd looked up. "Attempts? I thought they actually succeeded."

"Two counts of actual arson, one attempted," Mel clarified.

"Alright." Boyd started pacing. "So, any thoughts as to what happened?"

"Well someone didn't try and burn the evidence of the murders," Frankie said, pointing to the photos. "I mean, the murders were committed in the kitchen, but the arson pictures…is that a different room?"

"It was Colonel Mustard in the drawing room with the candlestick," Grace intoned darkly.

"Arson in the dining room, murder in the kitchen," Mel replied.

"I don't think I want to know what went on in the rest of the house," Spencer muttered.

"Do we have any evidence?" Frankie asked.

Boyd consulted his piece of paper again, almost like it was a script, and then nodded. "There's a box waiting in the lab for you."

Frankie looked surprised. "That was fast work."

"Don't complain," Mel said.

"I'm not, just stating."

"Well go and state somewhere else," Boyd told her. "Preferably you can 'state' while you're in your lab working."

"Has anyone ever told you that subtlety isn't your strong point, Boyd?" Frankie asked.

"Many times. Your point?" he replied.

"I'll call if I find anything." Frankie waved and disappeared into solitary confinement.

"Right, I want you two to study these photos until you've got square eyes," Boyd ordered. "Grace, get me a profile of the person we're looking for."

"What makes you think there's just one perpetrator?" she asked.

"Fine. Make as many profiles as you like, just tell me who you think is responsible, okay?"

"Miss Scarlet, bedroom, rope," Grace muttered.

Mel and Spencer looked at each other. "I hope that was another Cluedo reference and not some sort of code," the DI murmured to his partner, who nodded fervently.

"And what will you be doing?" Grace asked Boyd, ignoring the other two.

"The same thing I always do during a case," Boyd replied. "I'll be thinking until we've got a suspect I can beat up, yell at and intimidate. Now, get to work. Chop chop!"

TBC


	3. 10 Snotty Tissues

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter…well, some of you might find it a little gross in a really childish way…just a warning…for…well…grossness!

WtD-WtD-WtD-WtD-WtD-WtD

*26th December, Boxing Day, 11am, CCHQ*

Work was going slowly. Mel and Spencer had given up looking at the photos and were playing paper football across their desks. If anyone was to ask, which someone always does, they were waiting for forensic analysis on some evidence. Which was true, but Frankie was too busy chatting online to friends to be bothered sorting that out.

Boyd was meditating, or at least that's what he claimed it was. It looked an awful lot like sleeping to Grace; he had his feet up on his desk and his eyes were closed, and when she opened the door to disturb him, the sound of a small thunderstorm greeted her. Since Boyd couldn't be snoring, as he wasn't asleep, Grace reasoned the noise was coming from midget moles trying to burrow their way out of Boyd's nose.

Contemplating the best way to wake him up, Grace settled on the evilest, and if he asked, she would simply blame one of the underlings. It was the easiest way. Creeping over to where Boyd sat/lay, Grace leant down and whispered into his ear, "I'm not wearing underwear."

The resulting noise was deafening and Grace jumped back to avoid being trapped under a large falling policeman as Boyd tried to sit up, stand up, and turn round, all at the same time.

"Whowhatwherewhenwhyhow?" he muttered, blinking his eyes sleepily.

"Professor Plum, murderer, conservatory, yesterday, no idea, rope," Grace replied, smiling sweetly.

"Is the coffee machine working yet?" Boyd asked after he'd glared at her.

Grace looked out of his office. "I think Spence is on the case."

Boyd followed her gaze and saw his DI approaching the errant coffee machine with a manic expression on his face and the fire axe grasped in both hands. "Oh, shit!" Boyd launched himself to his feet and raced out of the room. "Hold it, Spence! Let's try everything before we annihilate it, okay?"

Spencer looked extremely disappointed. "Fine," he replied sulkily, lowering the axe.

"Oh, move over," Mel said in exasperation. She walked around the coffee machine (or as much as she could as the table it was sat on was flush against a wall) and frowned. "This looks pretty simple to me. Just needs a woman's touch, that's all."

Boyd rolled his eyes. "Oh, please."

"Alright, I'll prove it. Turn around."

Spencer looked terrified. "What?"

"Don't want to give my secrets away," Mel said, winking at Grace.

"Fine, fine, as long as the damn thing gets fixed, I don't care," Boyd muttered, grabbing Spencer's arm and spinning him around as well. Boyd was bad enough on a normal day (not that they had many of those) but when deprived of caffeine, he was positively a hellish nightmare.

Suddenly the sound of gurgling filled the room. "There, all fixed," Mel told them, beaming as they turned around.

Spencer looked at Boyd. "There'll be no living with her now."

Boyd nodded dolefully. "I know."

As both officers turned and walked away, Grace high-fived Mel; she had seen her plug the machine in. "Just don't tell Frankie," the profiler murmured. "Say it was a Christmas miracle or something."

Drawn by the smell of coffee (Spencer was stood near the doors leading to the lab, holding them open and fanning the aroma towards his colleague), Frankie burst in then, making a beeline to the machine despite what was in her path. As a result, she walked all over Spencer and Mel's desks, and shoved Boyd summarily out of the way.

"Must have coffee," she said, glaring at the machine as it hadn't finished yet.

Grace stared at Frankie. "You had some. You had the last out of my flask, remember?"

"Not enough."

"Have you got anything for us?" Boyd asked, brushing his jacket down and trying to regain some of his dignity.

"Snot," came the reply as Frankie slurped appreciatively at the freshly brewed brew.

Everyone stared at the scientist and finally Mel managed a sort of laugh. "What?"

"Snot," Frankie reiterated. "You know, mucus. That viscous green discharge from the nose that's surprisingly high in protein…."

"We get the idea," Grace said quickly, holding her hand up. "What about it?"

"Well, down in the lab I've got ten snotty tissues as part of the evidence. I can tell you so far that we're probably looking for as least three people. More than likely it'll be five in the end."

Boyd spat his coffee all over the floor, eliciting a "It's not that hot" from Spencer. "How many people?" the DSI asked.

Frankie looked at him. "Five. You know, after four but before six."

"How can you tell?" Mel asked quickly.

"I'm not sure I want to know," Grace murmured.

"Well," Frankie began, and the rest of the team quickly got themselves comfortable. Lecture mode in a scientist is always so easy to spot. "Firstly, I looked at the tissues used and found there were two kinds. Seven were your bog standard coffee-table-top-box tissues - man-sized, I might add - and three were…well, special."

"In what way?" Spencer asked.

"Christmas themed."

Boyd sipped his coffee. "Were they used by the same person?"

Frankie nodded. "I believe so, yes, but I'll know for sure when the DNA results come back, which should be a few days."

Mel shook her head. "But how can you tell? I mean, snot's snot, isn't it?"

"Consistency," Frankie replied. "Each tissue showed the same amount of use - which was once, by the way - and the same amount of snot, which was all of the same consistency. There was also some wetness which I believe was tears."

Spencer whistled. "Go, Frankie."

She grinned at him. "Headache all gone now, Spence?"

"Yeah. Bring on New Year's Eve."

"Only if we solve this case," Boyd replied. "What about the other snot rags, Frankie?"

"Boyd," Grace chastised him.

"What? That's what they are."

"Anyway," Frankie continued loudly, "I used the same principle on the other seven. Two belonged to the same person, who did more crying than wiping their nose. Three were well used - I'd say whoever they belonged to was really upset over something."

"Witness to the murders, perhaps?" Spencer suggested.

Frankie nodded. "It's possible. One was hardly used at all, but the deposits were…well, I could make aliens out of it."

"Green?" Boyd asked.

"Very. And the last one…." Frankie shook her head. "Whoever used that must be economising. There was hardly any tissue left."

Mel went to the board. "So, we've got three Christmas themed tissues…."

"Snotty tissues," Frankie corrected.

Mel ignored her. "Three Christmas themed tissues, two more crying that snotty, three well used, one with extra green deposits, and one almost annihilated. Is that right?"

"Yup."

"So that makes…." Spencer started to count up on her fingers.

"If you run out, you can use mine," Mel offered, holding his hands up.

Grace sighed in exasperation. "Ten, Spence. It makes ten."

"Like Frankie said before," Boyd added, shaking his head.

TBC


	4. 9 Words of Wisdom

WtD-WtD-WtD-WtD-WtD-WtD

*26th December, Boxing Day, 1pm, CCHQ*

Lunch arrived (courtesy of little green mucus men from Mars) and went (thanks for three ravenous police officers and two starved scientists), and the team still weren't any closer to a result. In fact, they were further away than before because of a little 'accident' in the lab. Boyd was still unsure why Frankie had been playing with matches in their in the first place, but as it was, she had accidentally(-on-purpose) fricasseed all the snotty tissues. Not that anyone was particularly bothered, but it could be construed as destruction of evidence, which was an arrestable offence, if an officer of the law wished to pursue the matter. However, neither Mel, Spencer or Boyd were brave enough to do so, and the matter was quickly forgotten.

"Is there any more evidence to destroy…I mean, look at?" Spencer asked.

Frankie rolled her eyes. "Yes, Spence, tonnes of it, that's why I'm sat here twiddling my thumbs with you lot."

And they were, in fact, having a thumb-twiddling competition, one which Grace was currently winning, with Boyd coming a close second.

"Wait, wasn't there a box down in the lab with 'EVIDENCE' stencilled on it?" Mel asked. "And all in capitals, no less."

"You know, this case would go a lot quicker if you all did the same amount of work as me," Frankie huffed, getting to her feet.

"Yeah, but there's only so much we can get from the photos until you give us DNA or something to go on," Spencer replied. "I mean, everyone knows you're the real brains of the operation, and if you can't find anything, what hope do the rest of us have?"

Frankie blushed a little, opened her mouth to speak, and giggled like a schoolgirl instead. As soon as she had left the room, Boyd clapped Spencer on the shoulder. "Nice one."

Spencer grinned. "Thanks."

"So, who's the real brains of the operation?" Mel asked.

Spencer made himself look serious. It wasn't easy. "You are, darling."

"Smooth talker."

"Grace, a word, please," Boyd said, walking into his office.

Grace followed him and closed the door. "Just one?"

"I'll ignore that…."

"There's nothing new then."

"How did Mel fix the coffee machine?" Boyd asked, pretending she hadn't spoke.

"Ah, that. I can't tell you," Grace replied.

"Oh come on, why not?"

Grace smiled. "It's a secret."

"And this is Mel. She's…."

"A woman?" Grace asked, her eyes flashing dangerously. "Incapable of making a piece of technology obey them?"

"Grace, women have no trouble making *anything* obey them," Boyd replied. "What I was going to say was Mel and technology are about as compatible as Frankie and live bodies. It's not an anti-feminist thing, it's just a Mel thing."

"Yeah, you're right," the profiler conceded after a moment.

"So…?"

"So what?"

"How'd she do it?"

"You really want to know?" Grace asked, leaning towards him.

Boyd nodded, leaning as well. "I really do."

"And you won't tell Spence?"

"Not a word."

Grace mulled it over, then said, "Confucius, he say, 'Don't use canon to kill mosquito.'" She leant back a bit, winked and headed towards her office.

Boyd glared at her retreating back before shouting, "What about a really big fly swat? Is that allowed?"

TBC


	5. 8 Broken Bones

WtD-WtD-WtD-WtD-WtD-WtD

*26th December, Boxing Day, 3pm, CCHQ*

Frankie burst into the squad room, banging both doors open in a very Boyd-esque manner, making everyone jump into the air. "Right, in the evidence box Mel so *kindly* pointed out to me…."

"Glad to help," Mel replied, as oblivious to the sarcasm in her colleague's voice as a tank is to an ant.

"…There was some more evidence."

Grace feigned shock. "Imagine that."

"Amazing, isn't it?" Boyd replied.

"I have eight broken bones," Frankie continued loudly.

"My God, what did you do?" Spencer asked in concern.

Frankie looked bewildered. "What?"

"Did you fall? Get attacked by a piece of equipment you'd been abusing? What?"

Frankie rolled her eyes. "No, Spence, there were eight broken bones in the box."

Everyone looked surprised. "Really?" Boyd asked.

"No, there were seven, and evidence of an eighth."

Cue collective 'ah' noise.

"So that would be evidence of evidence?" Mel asked.

Frankie clapped sarcastically. "Well done, Mel."

"Someone needs a caffeine boost," the DS murmured to Spence, who nodded in agreement, glad there were two desks and several feet of space between him and Frankie, who was looking murderous.

"All right, what can you tell us about the bones?" Boyd asked, deciding it was time to take charge before the murder increased by one or two.

"Well, there was one large one and several smaller," Frankie replied, plopping into a chair. "The large one looks like a leg bone. It's the only one I'm certain about. There are some strange marks parallel to the line of the bone, and that's all I can tell you. Soon as I have anything more, I'll let you know."

"The other bones?" Grace asked.

"Smaller, six altogether, could be from a hand or a foot, maybe. I'm not sure, though. I've got a few more tests to run before I can be any more…."

"Certain?" Spencer suggested.

"Sure?" Mel asked.

"What about the evidence of evidence?" Body said loudly.

"The bone in question definitely belongs to a foot," Frankie replied. "It looks like maybe a toe, could have been broken by kicking something, I suppose."

Grace looked at Boyd. "The murderer running away?"

Boyd leant back in his chair. "It's possible."

"Hang on, have we got a photo of the foot in question?" Spencer asked.

Frankie glared at him. "No, Spence, we've got a photo of the sock the foot lived it. Socks can talk, you know, and that's how I found out the toe was broken."

Spencer stuck his tongue out in response. "Well, can't we just…I don't know…have a feet parade?"

Boyd patted him on the shoulder. "I'll let you pitch that one to the DAC."

"All right," the DI grumbled, folding his arms and sticking his bottom lip out.

"How do you know the toe is broken?" Grace suddenly asked. "I mean, from a photo, it's not possible, is it?"

Frankie actually looked embarrassed. "Erm, no, it's not."

"So?"

"It was an educated guess, okay? I mean, from the photo, the toe looks bruised, and it was in with all the other broken bones, so I figured…."

"Two and two make four," Mel said. "Or at least you hope that's right."

Frankie nodded. "But since maths has never been my strong suit, it could end up being five or thirteen."

"DN…," Boyd started to say.

"I'm still waiting," Frankie interrupted. "I told you, when I know anything…."

"We will," the rest of the team chorused.

"You're learning."

"The foot in question," Grace said. "Could it belong to our suspect? I mean, if the toe is broken, from probably kicking something, wouldn't that suggest a hasty retreat, like running away from the scene of the crime?"

"Either that or someone's just plain clumsy and got feet too big for their body," Boyd muttered.

"I think we need to make more sense of these photos," Spencer said loudly.

Mel groaned. "Spence, we've been staring at them all day."

"And what have we learnt?"

"Learned," Boyd corrected.

"Colonel Mustard did it, in the conservatory, with the lead pipe," Grace announced triumphantly.

The rest of the team looked at each other, nodded once, and ran away to different parts of the unit. Grace talking sense was scary enough; Grace talking nonsense was akin to Boyd being nice to everyone for a whole year.

TBC


	6. 7 Days to Solve the Case

WtD-WtD-WtD-WtD-WtD-WtD

*26th December, Boxing Day, 6pm, CCHQ*

"Can we go home now…*please*?" Spencer whined.

"Yeah, come on, Boyd," Mel joined in. "At least try and get into the Christmas spirit."

"Christmas was yesterday. It's all over and done with now," Boyd replied. "But you can all go home if you want." He shook his head. "Slackers."

"Someone had better tell Frankie," Grace said. "Otherwise she'll be there all night."

Spencer and Mel looked at each other and both shrugged. "And?"

Grace rolled her eyes and walked to the double doors leading to the lab. "Frankie! Home time!"

There was a blur of colour, which almost knocked the profiler off her feet, and suddenly Frankie was there at the other doors. "Come on, what are you all waiting for?"

"Before you go," Boyd said, and there was a collective groan. "Now how do you know I wasn't going to say that you're all getting a raise in the new year?"

Hindsight is 20-20, so they say, and Boyd certainly agreed with that as his team swamped him, hugging, kissing, and generally groping him. He wouldn't like to say who was doing what to him, really; all he knew was he couldn't breathe.

"Cnt…breat…."

"I think we're suffocating him," Grace stated.

Frankie, Spencer and Mel all looked at each other, their silent communication an obvious deliberation over what action to take, whether to rid themselves of a rather Scroogy-Grinch-type boss, or whether to have mercy and let him up.

Grace glaring at them made their minds up.

"Definitely no raise after that," Boyd grumbled as he stood up.

"Go on, what's this earth shattering news you have for us?" Grace asked.

"We've only got seven days to solve the case."

"What?" the younger members of the team exclaimed.

Boyd looked at them. "Seven. You know, comes after six but before eight."

"But that takes it to…." Spencer's counting aids made an appearance again, making everyone laugh. "It's a little difficult to count past five when you're using the fingers off one hand to tick the fingers of the other off. Not tick off annoyance; even I've never managed to annoy a bunch of fingers…."

"Spence."

"Yeah, boss?"

"Shut up."

"Got it, boss."

"Seven days takes it to New Year's Eve," Grace supplied.

"What happens if we don't solve it in time?" Frankie asked.

"How the hell should I know? I didn't make the rules," Boyd replied.

"Who did?" Mel asked.

"Solve the case and you'll get your answer," Boyd said cryptically. "Now, who's up for a drink?"

Spencer's head came up. "You paying?"

"No, you are. Let's go."

TBC


	7. 6 Sets of DNA

WtD-WtD-WtD-WtD-WtD-WtD

*27th December, Day after Boxing Day, 11am, CCHQ*  
"So," Boyd said, balancing the chair on two legs as he stretched backwards and promptly fell on his arse.

"Smooth," Frankie noted.

"Shut up," Boyd replied. "So, what have we got so far?"

Mel and Spencer looked at each other and grinned. "Twelve crimes committed, eleven photos on the boards, ten snotty tissues…." they started to sing.

"Nine words of wisdom," Grace chimed in.

"Eight broken bones, seven days to get a result," Spencer and Mel continued, both horribly out of tune and neither caring at all.

"And six sets of DNA," Frankie finished.

*"What?"*

Frankie blinked her eyes and put her fingers in her ears, wiggling them around a little to rebalance her hearing. "Please don't do that again," she asked.

Boyd picked himself up off the floor again. "But *six* sets of DNA! That's…."

"…Just…."

"…Not…."

"…Possible!"

Frankie looked from Boyd to Grace to Mel and finally Spencer. "You guys spend *way* too much time around each other."

Mel shrugged. "It's a small office."

"It's still not possible," Boyd repeated.

"It's against the rules," Grace added.

Spencer frowned. "What exactly are the rules?"

"Damned if I know, Spence, I'm just playing along," Boyd replied, shaking his head. "Alright, Frankie, astound us with what you know."

"We haven't got enough hours in the day for that," she said, smiling sweetly at him.

Boyd groaned and looked to his right. "Save me."

"Not on your life," Grace replied.

"Wake me up when something interesting happens," Spencer said, yawning loudly.

"Okay," Mel replied. She waited until he had closed his eyes, counted to five, then shouted, *"Wake up!"* right in his ear.

There was an even louder thud and then the heap on the floor emitted a rather sorry 'ow'.

"I recovered all the DNA from the bones," Frankie explained, walking to the board.

"OW!"

"Sorry, Spence," she said, not sounding very sorry at all.

Grace frowned. "That doesn't really help us, though, does it?"

"Not really, but it makes things a lot more fun," Frankie replied.

Boyd and Mel both groaned. "I don't like the sound of that," he said.

"Me neither," the DS agreed.

"Have you got matches for all the DNA?" Grace asked, though it sounded like she already knew the answer.

Frankie nodded, looking smugger than the cat that got the whole cream producing factory, let alone the leftovers in someone's bowl. "Well, all but one."

"Aha! She *does* have limitations," Boyd exclaimed.

"*She* actually found something to do with the case," Frankie retorted. "What have you lot done?"

"I've been thinking," Boyd replied defensively. "Mel and Spence have been…underlinging. And Grace…Grace is busy being the team's rock."

The profiler held her hand up. "Actually, Grace has made a profile of the person we're looking for."

The team emitted a collective coo, like pigeons, only sounding more like 'ooooo'. It was a very impressive noise, and they all seated themselves comfortably to hear what she had to say, like schoolchildren awaiting their afternoon story. It didn't mean they'd understand what the bloody hell she was going on about, but she was rather pretty to look at, and she had a nice voice.

"We're looking for…," Grace began, pausing dramatically to make sure she had everyone's attention. She did, as much as she usually did, anyway.

"For?" Mel encouraged her.

Grace took a deep breath. "Mrs White, with the candlestick, in the dining room."

Cue collective murderous screaming.

"Alright, alright." Grace held her hands up to stem the banshee wailing. "We're looking for someone with murderous, possible cannibalistic, tendencies, who also has a pyromaniac complex."

Spencer's jaw hit the floor, along with the rest of him. "I think there's a problem with the chair," he muttered.

"I think there's a problem with your head," Mel replied.

Frankie held a hand up. "How do you know the person we're looking for is cannibalistic?" she asked.

Grace's expression turned smug, and it made Frankie's look pale in comparison. "I studied the photos. The meat has been ripped from those bones you got the DNA from. Now it doesn't quite look as frenzied as an animal attack, and last time I checked, animals weren't interested in setting things on fire. So cannibalism is a good guess."

"Don't suppose you can tell us what state his teeth are in, can you, Grace?" Boyd asked. "Then all we have to do is look into people's gobs as well as at their feet."

"Oh yeah, we'll get this finished by New Year," Mel said sarcastically.

Spencer leant on the desk. "Think of it this way - *beaucoup* overtime."

Everyone looked at each other, then at Spence. "Oh dear, you weren't listening, were you?" Frankie asked, sighing.

"When?"

Mel shook her head. "Spence, you *never* listen."

"What?"

Grace patted the DI's arm. "Don't worry, Spence, we still love you."

"Huh?"

"We're not getting paid for this," Boyd said.

*"WHAT?"*

"You've said that once," Frankie informed him, but her words were lost in a loud thud. Again. "I'm bringing a crash mat in tomorrow."

"Good idea," Mel replied.

Boyd ran a hand through his hair. "While we've got some peace and quiet from Captain Uncool on the floor there, astound us, Frankie."

"Right, I've got hits on all of the DNA profiles but one," the scientist replied. "That one is still going through the database."

"And how were you able to get these profiles so quickly?" Grace asked.

"Because the database searches through the police first."

Everyone looked surprised. "Really?"

"You know, if you stop interrupting me, we'd get through this a lot quicker," Frankie said.

"Sorry," they all chorused. Well, not Spencer. He looked like he'd managed to knock himself unconscious with his last fall.

"So, our search is limited to these people," Frankie told them (excepting Spencer). "If anyone else had been around, they would have left DNA."

"Alright. So…." Boyd was starting to gesture with his hands, so the scientist decided to put them out of their misery.

"People connected directly with these crimes, and one of whom…."

"Whom?" Mel repeated, looking at Grace, who shrugged.

"*Whom* is bound to be the culprit," Frankie ploughed on relentlessly. "Damn, what was I saying?"

"Just give us the names!" Spencer yelled from the floor, then went back to pretending to be unconscious.

"Fine. Peter Boyd, Grace Foley, Mel Silver, Spencer Jordan and the unknown person."

"Hey, that only makes five," Spencer said.

"Give the man a coconut," Mel muttered, and Grace high-fived her.

"Who's the sixth, Frankie?" Boyd asked, pinning her with The Glare.

The scientist sighed and threw her arms in the arm. "Alright, it's me. Happy now?"

"Happy is a relative term," Boyd replied, then nodded. "You were right…."

"Told you so."

"Don't let it go to your head."

"In what way was Frankie right?" Grace asked.

"This is going to be fun."

TBC


	8. 5 Well Worn White Coats

WtD-WtD-WtD-WtD-WtD-WtD

*28th December, two days after Boxing Day, 2pm, CCHQ*

Over twenty hours later, and still no progress on the case, so let us take a brief break from the bickering between Boyd and 'bordinates (try saying when pissed for extra points). For anyone wishing to know what is happening in the squad room, the words 'The Usual' should suffice. Boyd is yelling. No one is listening. Occasionally someone else will shout back, making Boyd yell more. Grace tries to mediate, eventually losing her rag and shouting louder than everyone else. Boyd slams doors, attempting to shatter every window in a twelve miles radius. Grace gets the team working again. Boyd comes out a while later, shouts a bit more, gets told off, sulks, and then rejoins the team. Spencer makes inappropriate comments, Mel joins in, Frankie adds her thoughts, Boyd goes off in a strop again, and Grace retreats to the Zen calmness of her office. It's a wonder they ever get anything done.

So while they are indulging in their own brand of narcotic madness, let us take a trip to the players of the game who are always usually seen, but this time have been left hanging out to dry. Literally. Someone decided that the Christmas holidays would be an excellent time to wash all the lab coats, which is another reason Frankie is in such a bad mood. Her comfy, fits-like-a-second-white-skin coat has been put through the ringer and due to the weather (it's raining, what a surprise!) is still waiting to dry out, so she has been forced to wear one of the others coats that no one ever goes near. It's stiff, uncomfortable, and Frankie is Not Happy about it.

Let us take a closer inspection of the coats, to see if we can spot Frankie's. Let us see if we can do a little deduction ourselves to figure out which is hers. It can't be too difficult, can it? After all, it will be very well worn, no doubt with stains that will never be removed, as well as enough fluff and lint in the pockets to make a king-sized mattress with. Sure enough, one white coat on the line doesn't exactly look white…but then again, neither do four others. Now isn't that a surprise. We have five well worn white coats. Well now….

It appears obvious that the coats belong to the rest of the team, but whose is whose? Let us see if we can work it out. There, that one has to be Frankie's. There are the telltale stains, the smooth patches around the elbows and cuffs, and enough lint (and bits of chocolate wrappers - *definitely* Frankie) to cover Switzerland when it's cold. That one looks like Mel's, for the simple reason it's smaller than everyone else, much like the woman herself, and the sleeves have obviously been rolled up several times in order to make sure she doesn't trip over them. Why people don't make lab coats that actually fit, no one knows. Standard sizes are large, extra large, and giant mutant.

This one has to be Grace's, though the reasoning for that would escape most people, but really, it is quite simple. Add the Holmes method to it, that once you eliminate the possible, not matter what remains, however impossible, must be the truth…what a long winded way of saying 'nothing is impossible' or 'every answer is the right one'. Oh, it appears those in the squad room have heard us; they are now engaged in a philosophical discussion over legendary English authors, the English language itself, and how Holmes would never have survived in current England, considering he was a drug addict.

Back to Grace's coat. There are two reasons we know it belongs to Grace. One, it has a special pocket sewn on the back, where we can put her hands because, as you may have noticed, her hands are always clasped behind her back, and it can get darn cold in the lab at times. The second reason is obvious; Grace's coat is the cleanest.

Boyd's coat is the next to be noticed, mainly because it's covered in stretch marks. It looks like he took the only 'small' that ever existed in the world of lab coats and made it fit over his large…extra large then (dare we say giant mutant) frame. It's also got several buttons missing where he's torn it off in one sort of fit or another.

That leaves the last worn one to be Spencer's. There's the odd drop of coffee that gives it away, but other than that, it's surprisingly non-descript. Only through the process of elimination (something else to add to the Holmes debate) are we certain it is his.

If only the case was so simple, the team would have it solved by now and wouldn't be arguing over whether Holmes was smarter than Poirot.

Suddenly, Boyd can be heard announcing that it's time to go home. Another other words to be spoken are drowned out by the loud cheer emitting from the rest of the team.

Two minutes after silence finally descends on the offices, Frankie's computer beeps cheerfully. It alone has been working, and it has found something. After a few moments, it beeps again. When no one pays attention, its beep becomes insistent, increasing in ferocity and volume until it threatens to wake up the entire of London.

Oh dear. Someone's going to be in trouble.

TBC


	9. 4 Possible Suspects

WtD-WtD-WtD-WtD-WtD-WtD

*29th December, three days after Boxing Day, 10am, CCHQ*

When Grace arrived at the office that morning, she greeted everyone with her usual, extremely cheerful words of "Good morning!" followed by a smile so bright it threatened to blot out the sun (or it would if the sun had been shining. It was, of course, still raining).

"Says who?" Frankie snapped, like a child who had been denied candy for the entire Christmas period.

Grace blinked in surprise. "Did I miss something?"

"I think our delectable scientist was robbed of a few hours sleep," Boyd said in a stage whisper. "We haven't been able to get much sense out of her yet, apart from some choice words about what she'd like to do to the equipment in her lab."

"*She* is stood right here!" Frankie shouted, stamping her foot.

Boyd looked at her in mock-surprise "You know, I do believe you're right. Funny how I never noticed that before."

"Boss, you've got a death wish," Spencer said, shaking his head.

"Before Frankie starts throwing things, is there anything I should know about the case?" Grace asked. "Or should I just retreat to the safety of my room now?"

"We do have something, actually," Mel replied. "Well, Frankie's computer does."

Grace looked at the scientist in surprise. "And you still want to kill it?"

"It got me up early because it was beeping rather incessantly and the security guards thought something was wrong," Frankie replied, somewhat waspishly (there was a distinctive buzz in the air).

"Ah. I see," Grace said, not really seeing at all. "So what did the horrible piece of machine have to tell us?"

"That out of the six DNA profiles retrieved from the scene, only four are directly linked," Frankie replied, slurping her coffee noisily.

Grace frowned. "So that means…."

Frankie nodded. "That means that we have four possible suspects."

"Let me guess, the mystery sample isn't one of them, and neither are you," Spencer said, leaning back in his chair.

"Right on one count and wrong on the other," Frankie replied. "For that you get…." And she kicked his legs (sort of) from under him.

"Ow."

"So…mystery sample not a suspect?" Mel asked.

Frankie shook her head. "Strong possibility it belongs to one of the victims."

"And the other person not a suspect?"

"You."

Mel's eyes widened. "What? But…that's not possible!"

Boyd looked amused. "Do you want to be a suspect, Mel?"

"Well, no, but…."

"Then quit complaining." Boyd looked at Spencer. "Get up." He then turned to Frankie. "How did you deduce Mel and mystery guest weren't suspects?"

"I didn't, the computer did."

Grace sighed. "So how did the computer work it out?"

Frankie shrugged. "I don't know. Do you want me to ask it?"

"Alright, let's see if we can work this out," Spencer said, holding his hand up. "We are supposed to be detectives, after all."

"Emphasis on 'supposed'," Grace murmured.

Boyd glared at her. "Be nice."

"Aren't I always?"

Boyd grunted in response.

Spencer stood up and walked to the wipe board. "If the mystery guest is probably a victim, then their DNA would have been clustered somewhere…maybe on the bones? And if Mel isn't a suspect, that must mean there isn't *enough* of her DNA on the bones or…." He looked up. "Hang on. Do we have a murder weapon? Or cause of arson?"

"Carving knife and several boxes of matches," Frankie replied.

"Oh. Cool. So, Mel's DNA would have been scarce or non-existent on those, right?" Spencer asked.

Frankie nodded. "Correct. Give the man a cookie."

"I prefer coconuts," Spencer murmured.

"I'll bet you do," Boyd replied.

"Wait, where did the murder and arson weapons come from?" Grace asked.

"Oh, I've had them all along," Frankie replied airily.

"Why didn't you tell us?" Mel demanded.

Frankie shrugged. "You didn't ask."

Boyd and Spencer looked at each other and rolled their eyes. "Typical."

"What else have you been hiding from us?" Grace asked.

Frankie winked. "That would be telling."

"Frankie…," Boyd said, his tone a warning.

"Alright, alright, keep your shirt on."

"Bet you wouldn't be saying that if it was me," Spencer muttered.

Frankie, Mel and Grace both exchanged raised eyebrow glances. "Girls, please, concentrate," Boyd pleaded. "That means you too, Spence."

"I have the evidence from the extortion as well," Frankie said.

Boyd stood up and went to the board. "So, as of now, you, me, Spence and Grace as suspects, right?"

The scientist nodded. "That's right."

"Does that mean I'm in charge of the case?" Mel asked, her eyes shining with enthusiasm and mischief. "Don't want any evidence contaminated, do we?"

"If you think I'm letting you loose in the lab, think again," Frankie said firmly.

"At least I'm not as bad as Boyd," Mel replied defensively. "Or Spence, for that matter."

"I don't care, you're still a copper. Translates in my books as 'all thumbs'."

"Not a chance," Boyd said in reply to Mel's questioning gaze.

"Bollocks," the DS muttered.

"Can borrow mine if you like," Spencer told her, grinning.

"SPENCE!"

The DI promptly fell off his chair again as everyone shouted at him. "This is abuse in the workplace!" he called from his position on the floor.

Boyd kicked him in the leg. "It will be if you don't shut up. Now then, Grace…."

"No."

"I haven't said anything yet!"

"You want to know which of us fits the profile of the person who could commit four murders, three arson attacks, three thefts, and two acts of extortion," Grace replied. "And the answer is every one of us is capable of each of those acts, and I will not single one person out, not even myself. So in reply to the question you haven't asked yet, no, I can't give you a profile of the suspect."

"You know, even when she doesn't use psychobabble, I still can't understand what the hell she's going on about," Boyd admitted to the rest of the team.

"We'd noticed," Mel said dryly.

Boyd ignored her. "Do you know what we could do with?"

"A holiday?" Grace suggested.

"A raise," Spencer said in hope.

"Coffee," Frankie muttered.

"No, motives," Boyd replied. "Chop chop, everybody!"

TBC


	10. 3 Possible Motives

WtD-WtD-WtD-WtD-WtD-WtD

*30th December, four days after Boxing Day, 12pm, CCHQ*

Tick.

Tock.

Tick.

Tock.

Tick.

Tock.

Tick.

Tock.

Tick.

Tock.

Tick.

Tock.

Tick.

Tock.

Tick.

Tock.

Tick.

Tock.

Tick.

Tock.

Tick.

Tock.

Tick.

Tock.

Tick.

Tock.

Tick.

The door to Boyd's office was flung open and the man himself stood there looking thoroughly pissed off. "What the *hell* is that noise?"

Mel and Spencer both stopped acting like a clock immediately and made a show of looking around confused. "What noise, boss?" Spencer asked.

"I can't hear anything," Mel added.

Boyd glared at them. "I want motives within half an hour or you can both go to bed without any supper!"

"Ooo, Daddy has spoken," Grace said as she came into the squad room.

"Mrs Peacock, study, spanner!" Frankie announced agitatedly, bursting in from the lab. "Oh. Sorry. Did I interrupt something?"

Mel nodded quickly. "We were just about to share our motives with you."

"Our? You mean you're an accomplice?" Grace asked, shocked.

"No. I meant…Spence, help me out," Mel whined.

Spencer pretended to think about it. "No."

*Tap, tap, tap, tap, tap, tap, tap, tap, tap, tap, tap, tap, tap, tap, tap, tap, tap, tap, tap….*

"Can anyone else hear a tap dripping?" Grace asked, studiously ignoring Boyd's fingers drumming a tattoo on the desk.

"I thought it was just a tap," Frankie replied.

"Motives today would be nice, or we might as well just call this a day…," Boyd said through gritted teeth.

"No, wait, there's no need to be hasty," Mel replied quickly.

Spencer nodded. "Yeah, we've got motives to share, if you'll all pipe down and let us talk!"

"I think quitting's a good idea," Grace said with a smile.

Frankie stared at her friend in mock horror. "Whose side are you on?"

"Mine," Boyd replied smugly.

"I thought you were on ours!" Mel exclaimed at Grace.

Frankie waved her hands. "Hang on, Grace, I thought you were on *my* side!"

"Anyone want to hear these motives?" Spencer asked in a bored voice. "Or would you rather I did a strip tease with it?"

Frankie and Mel wolf-whistled while Grace ran to her office, grabbed her purse, and came back waving five pound notes around. "Strip! Strip! Strip!" the women chorused.

"Someone save me," Boyd muttered, staring at the ceiling before covering his face with his hands.

Grace patted his shoulder consolingly. "There there, Boyd. It's alright." She looked at the rest of the team. "So, motives."

Mel nodded. "We've got three."

"Is that it?" Frankie asked in surprise.

"Three for each suspect," Spencer clarified. "Or was it each crime?"

The scientist shook her head. "This is getting confusing."

*"Getting?"* Boyd repeated dryly.

"Let's recap the crimes," Mel said, taking charge. "We've got murder, arson, theft and extortion. So, murder is the easiest one. We think that whoever witnessed the theft or arson could have been murdered."

"Lame," Boyd muttered.

"We think that the person who was caught in the extortion case was responsible for theft," Spencer said.

Grace shook her head. "Pathetic."

"And we think whoever was responsible for arson was trying to hide evidence of theft and murder," Mel finished.

"Useless," Frankie said.

Spencer leant back in his chair. "Do you lot have any better ideas?"

"Colonel Mustard in the ballroom with the revolver," Boyd stated firmly.

"Yes," Grace answered Spencer. "Let's all go to the pub for lunch, call it a day, and come back tomorrow."

Frankie looked shocked. "But the case?"

Grace gave the photos on the board a cursory glance, consulted her notes briefly, and then nodded. "I've solved it. What about you, Boyd?"

"I've got a pretty good idea who did what," he agreed.

Mel and Spencer looked at each other. "We've got the answer right here," the DS said, holding up a piece of paper.

"Oh well, in that case…." Frankie pulled a scrap of paper from her pocket. "Here's my theory. I just didn't want to embarrass you all by dazzling you with my ultimate brilliance."

Boyd stood and stretched. "Just for that, lunch is on you, Frankie."

TBC


	11. 2 Leftover Bits of Evidence

WtD-WtD-WtD-WtD-WtD-WtD

*31st December, five days after Boxing Day (also known as New Year's Eve), 5pm, CCHQ*

"Is it almost home time?" Spencer whined.

Mel laughed. "You've only been here an hour."

"So?"

Lunch the day before had spilled over to dinner, which turned into supper, which evolved into something of a party, and none of the team could be particularly bothered crawling out of bed for work the next day. So sometime in the afternoon they all stumbled into the building, and had spent most of the time in the office catnapping.

Frankie ambled into the squad room and dumped the evidence box on the nearest table. "Well, that's the lab all locked up. Are we ready to go?"

Mel shook her head. "You're as bad as he is."

"Great minds think alike," Spencer replied with a grin.

Grace came out of her office all wrapped up and ready for home. "So, whose house are we meeting at later?" she asked.

Boyd came out at the same time. "I thought we'd agreed it was yours."

"I thought we'd agreed it was *yours*," Grace replied.

"Hang on, am I the only one who's bothered about the case?" Mel asked.

Spencer nodded. "Yeah, because you're not a suspect."

"But we *have* to solve it properly!" she said, stamping her foot a little.

Boyd sighed. "Alright, alright, we'll do it properly." He dropped heavily into the nearest chair. "Who wants to start?"

"I will," Frankie volunteered. "Mine's the easiest job."

"Wait, shouldn't we do the photos on the board first?" Spencer asked. "After all, that was where we started."

Boyd folded his arms. "Fine, fine, just get on with it, yeah?"

"Okily dokily."

"No more Simpsons for him," Grace muttered.

There was some scuffling at the wipe board and Spencer found himself shoved summarily back into his seat by Mel. "I'll do it."

Spencer stuck his tongue out in reply.

"We have eleven photos showing various shots of the crime scenes," Mel started to explain in her best teacher's voice. "They show the kitchen-dining area and the living room of a house or apartment. They show the arson and murder crimes, but not the theft or the extortion."

"We know all this, Mel," Boyd said impatiently.

"I'm recapping for those of you with short memories."

"Why did you look at us when you said that?" Grace demanded to know, indicating Boyd and herself.

Mel looked innocently back at her. "I was just exercising my eyes, that's all. So, the photos. Let's start with the arson. It was three counts, right?"

"There's a point to all this, isn't there?" Frankie asked.

"Three counts of arson," Mel ploughed on regardless. "From the photos we can see two obviously failed attempts to light a fire in the living room, supported by the empty match boxes in the evidence box. Someone obviously needs practice on lighting a decent Christmas fire. The successful arson attack can be seen here." She pointed to a photo. "Unfortunately, it was *too* successful. The poor Christmas pudding was reduced to cinders."

The other four looked guiltily and suspiciously at each other but said nothing.

Mel moved to one side. "Now the murders. With the photos and the bones we can see that a joint of beef and a leg of lamb were massacred, as well as two full chickens. And whoever was gnawing on the bones needs a dummy to teeth on," she said, looking at each team member carefully.

"Wait, what about the eight broken bone?" Spencer asked. "The one that belonged to a foot?"

Frankie whacked him on the arm with a file. "That was you, you nonce!" she told him. "You kicked the table when you were drunk and broke your toe!"

Spencer blushed. "That's why it was hurting on Boxing Day."

Grace and Boyd looked at each other and rolled their eyes.

"So, that's the photos and the bones done," Mel said. "Frankie?"

"Right, Mel, thanks." Frankie took her friend's place. "The evidence box was pretty empty, mainly because there was too much evidence to bring, as we all well know. Mel's just explained the bones, so I get the snotty tissues."

"Lovely," Grace said.

"If you remember, we had ten: one that was totally destroyed, three well used, three Christmas themed, two used for a lot of crying, and one that was just…well, it just was. I can tell you, from the DNA, which belonged to who."

"Whom," Boyd corrected quietly.

Frankie rolled her eyes. "Whatever. So, the one that just was belonged to Mel, who fell asleep while watching the Christmas film, which is why her DNA wasn't on much else."

"Yeah, she slept through everything, except eating and opening presents," Spencer replied. "Even the calls to do the washing up!"

"Which didn't get done in the end, I noticed," Grace remarked dryly.

"I told you we should have used paper plates and plastic cups," Boyd told her.

"And *I* told *you* we should have had Christmas dinner at your place then *you* could have been stuck with the mess," Grace replied.

Frankie looked at them. "When you two have finished…."

"Wait, is that what you two were arguing about on Boxing Day when you came in?" Mel asked.

Grace nodded. "He drew the short straw to wash up and then he just buggered off."

"I didn't just…!" Boyd started to protest, but Grace silenced him with a look. "Yeah, alright, my bad. Frankie, carry on."

"Thanks. So, Mel's tissue was the one that just was. Spencer was the three well used ones."

"I had a cold," he admitted.

"Nice," Boyd remarked dryly.

"Mine were the Christmas themed ones, and I think Grace was practicing being Scrooge," Frankie continued.

"The one that was destroyed?" Mel asked.

Frankie nodded. "And the last ones belong to someone who did more crying than the rest of us put together. Chicken Run not your thing, Boyd?" she asked slyly.

"It was the onions I was cutting earlier!" Boyd replied defensively.

Everyone nodded sombrely, not trying hard at all to conceal their grins or suppress their laughter. Boyd sprouted some choice expletives at them, folded his arms, and sulked, rather magnificently, it should be noted.

*"So,"* Frankie continued, "That's how I got the DNA that linked us all to the crimes."

"That and the fact you were *there*," Mel pointed out.

Frankie nodded and gestured with one hand. "That as well. But from the DNA, I can tell you who handled the matches that were used in the arson."

"Oh, shit," Spencer muttered.

"That's right, Spence, you were the one who annihilated the Christmas pudding," Frankie replied.

Boyd smacked him upside the head. "I was looking forward to that as well. Do you know how much alcohol was in it?"

"That's probably why it burnt so well," Mel noted.

"As for the fire, that was Boyd's fault," Frankie continued.

Grace smacked *him* upside the head. "What was it he said, ladies?"

"This is a man's job!" Frankie and Mel chorused.

Boyd scowled. "Have you finished, Dr Wharton?"

"Erm, yeah. I can't tie the murders to anyone because we all had some of everything, although the one who gnawed the bones was actually…."

Grace blushed and ducked her head. "Thanks, Frankie. What happened to sticking together, not only as women but as scientists?"

Frankie shrugged. "More fun this way."

Then Boyd stood up, grinning evilly. "Okay, my turn."

The rest turned to look at each other. "Uhoh."

"Grace, would you be so kind as to come up here, please?"

"He asked nicely," Mel muttered.

Spencer noticed. "He said please."

"Whatever it was, I didn't do it," Grace said.

"I know," Boyd replied. "I just thought you might like to write on the board seeing as you never get to do it."

Grace raised her eyebrows in surprise. "Really? Well, thank you."

Boyd smiled. "You're welcome."

"I'm really worried now," Grace said to the others in a stage whisper behind her hand.

Boyd ignored her. "Right, now kindly write our names on the board."

"Our full names?"

"Whatever we call each other normally will be fine."

"I don't think that's a good idea," Frankie muttered.

Grace, showing enormous restraint, wrote 'Boyd, Grace, Frankie, Mel, Spence' on the board in nice big clear letters.

"I hope that's not in any kind of order," Spencer grumbled.

"Oldest to youngest?" Frankie suggested.

"Oi!" Boyd exclaimed in protest. "Grace is older than I am!"

Mel and Spencer looked at each other and shook their heads. "Bad move," they chorused.

Boyd turned to Grace, his expression stricken. "I mean…I didn't mean…oh Christ, you're going to make me pay for that, aren't you?"

She smiled sweetly at him. "Of course. Now, what else do you want me to write down?"

"Murder for each of us, arson for me and Spence," Boyd replied.

"Wait, I thought Frankie said that Mel was innocent!" Spencer exclaimed, glaring accusingly at the two young women.

Frankie looked particularly innocent as she replied. "It was a red herring, Spence, I thought you'd have realised that, being a detective and all."

"Yeah, and actually being there," Mel pointed out.

Spencer looked from Boyd to Grace. "If we play this next year, we need to establish better rules."

"It was your idea in the first place, Spence," Grace reminded him.

"We're getting a little ahead," Boyd cut in. "Right, so that's the arson and the murders solved. What's next?"

"Theft," Grace said.

"Theft. Thank you, Grace."

"You're welcome, Boyd."

"You know what to write?"

"I certainly do."

And under Spencer, Mel and Frankie's names, Grace put 'theft'.

"Nuts," Frankie muttered. "And I thought I'd been so discreet."

"Me too," Mel said.

Spencer held his hands up. "I didn't steal anything!"

"So how did my MP3 player, my *new* MP3 player, find its way into your pocket?" Mel asked.

"Ah."

"Exactly."

Boyd silenced them by flapping his hands a little. Either that or he was trying to fly. "You were all seen nicking each other's presents by both me and Grace," he said. "Spence stole Mel's, Mel stole Frankie's, and Frankie stole Spence's."

Spencer shrugged. "Mel seemed more attached to Frankie's new sweater than her own present. I didn't think she'd miss it."

"Don't worry, I didn't," Mel assured him. "But Frankie grassed on you to me."

"Charming!"

Mel looked at Boyd. "So, are we done now?"

"Not quite," Grace said. "The extortion crimes. Frankie, I believe you've got two pieces of evidence left over."

Frankie tried to look innocent and this time failed. "Me?"

"Yes, you. I've known all along what one extortion case was and if I know Boyd as well as I do, it wasn't hard to guess the other," Grace replied.

"Oh, alright," Frankie said, lifting the lid off the evidence box and taking out two very nicely wrapped bottles. After all, it's difficult to wrap a bottle and not make it look like a bottle, unless, of course, it's in a box. These two bottles aren't, so they look a lot like bottles that have been wrapped in nice shiny Christmas paper.

Grace smiled. "Thank you."

"I was wondering where this had gone to," Boyd said, taking one of the bottles, the one that was wrapped the nicest, actually.

"You mean you thought it was strange Grace hadn't said thank you for her present," Spencer remarked. Both Boyd and Grace turned to stare at him in amazement. "What? I am a detective, you know. You and Grace both bought each other a bottle of wine for Christmas, probably the same bottle as well, and you bought it at an extortionate price. So you weren't perpetrators, you were victims."

"Wow, Spence, you're good," Frankie said in admiration.

Mel nodded in agreement. "Well done, Spence."

He bowed from his seated position. "Thank you. *Now* we've finished, right? I mean, it so far past home time it's almost next year."

"Yes, Spence, we're all done here," Boyd said, heading for his office. "My place in an hour? Give you all chance to change, pick up some booze or whatever the hell else you do when you leave here."

Spencer looked at Mel and Frankie and grinned. "I'll race you."

TBC


	12. 1 Sincere Declaration

WtD-WtD-WtD-WtD-WtD-WtD

*31st December, New Year's Eve, 11pm, CCHQ*

"Ooooo," Frankie groaned.

"Urgh," Spencer muttered in agreement.

"Don't wanna see food for a week!" Mel announced, clutching her stomach.

Boyd and Grace stopped talking when they entered the room to take in the sight before them. "They look like three beached whales, don't they?" the profiler noted.

Boyd nodded. "They don't do much for the décor of the room. Maybe we should roll them outside."

"But…."

"…We'll…."

"…Freeze!" said beached whales protested.

"Well you shouldn't have eaten so much," Grace lectured. "Come on, scoot up or get out of the way."

"Go and sit on the little couch," Frankie said, waving in the direction of said couch, not realising she was pointing in the completely opposite way.

Mel managed to sit up a little to look at their boss. "Boyd, why have you got a two seater and a three seater couch, and an armchair?"

"To seat all the people that turn up when I throw lavish parties," he replied, squishing next to Grace on the little couch.

Beached whales began to laugh uncontrollably, and immediately regretted it. "Oo, no laughing," Spencer groaned. "No laughing, no moving…."

"No drinking?" Grace asked slyly.

Immediately the beached whale syndrome disappeared. "Suddenly I'm feeling much better," Spencer said. "How about you girls?"

Frankie nodded. "Better. But thirsty now."

"Drinks are in the fridge," Boyd said, sipping his wine. "Help yourselves. And no fighting!"

"So why *have* you got so much furniture, Boyd?" Grace asked once they were alone.

He shrugged. "It was on offer and it's a big room to fill. Comes in handy on rare occasions."

"And how many times have all three seats been in use before tonight?"

"Do you have to rub in the fact I haven't got any friends?" Boyd asked, pulling a face.

Instinctively, Grace caressed his cheek. "Sorry."

Boyd looked pole-axed, then he looked upwards. "Checking for mistletoe," he explained with a gentle smile at Grace's questioning expression.

"Ah."

"You know," Frankie said loudly, announcing the return of the children, "There's still one thing we haven't worked out."

"And what's that?" Boyd asked, trying not to be disappointed or uncomfortable.

"Whose fault the whole of this…fiasco was."

"It wasn't a fiasco!" Spencer replied defensively.

"I think that answers that question," Mel murmured.

Frankie flopped onto the big couch and the other youngsters followed suit. "Spence, it was a fiasco. I mean, what possessed you to suggest it in the first place?"

"I thought it would be fun," he muttered.

"Oh yeah, great fun. We've all just enjoyed a lovely Christmas dinner - thanks, Grace - and Mel wants to play a game. When Cluedo's dug out, you're all for," Frankie said. "But when you lost, you proclaimed the game crap and said we should do a 'proper' version."

"Yeah, and?" Spencer asked.

"Spence, we were all there! We all knew what each other did! It was completely, totally and utterly pointless!"

Spencer, who was squashed between Frankie and Mel and quite obviously hating every second of it, turned to the scientist. "Did you have fun?"

"I mean…what?" she asked, confused.

"Did you have fun?"

"I…that's not the point, Spence!"

"Of course it is," he replied in an insufferably superior tone.

"You know, if I remember rightly, Frankie," Boyd piped up, "It was actually *you* who started all of this. You're the one who claimed Christmas was boring and that we should do something a little different, out of the ordinary. What's more out of the ordinary that real life Cluedo?"

"Mel put me up to it," Frankie blurted out.

"Hey!" Mel replied.

"Well, you did. Since you don't celebrate Christmas, you wanted to do something un-Christmas-y," Frankie said.

"Yeah, at Grace's suggestion." Mel pointed towards the profiler.

Grace indicated Boyd. "His idea."

Spencer flapped his hands until they were all quiet. "Look, it doesn't matter who started it, all that matters is who won."

"We did," everyone chorused.

"Wait…."

"…I thought…."

"…You were…."

"…On my…."

"…Side!"

"I thought it was men vs. women," Spencer said, looking at Boyd.

"I thought it was police vs. scientists," Boyd said, looking at Frankie.

"I thought it was the same, or at least men vs. women," Frankie said, looking at Mel.

Mel shrugged. "I thought it was youngsters vs. oldies."

"Charmed," Grace murmured.

Boyd held a hand up. "Let me get this straight. We don't know who started it, and we don't know who won. So really, was there any point in that?"

"Fun, Boyd, fun," Grace said. "You know, the three letter word that begins with 'F', ends with 'N' and has 'U' in the middle."

"I expect that sort of answer from them three," Boyd replied, pointing at the underlings.

Grace drained her glass. "Just remember you ducked out of washing up."

"I didn't 'duck out'."

"You avoided the task."

"Honestly, anyone would think you two are married!" Frankie said, shaking her head.

"But we *are* married," Boyd told her.

*"What?"* everyone exclaimed loudly, including Grace.

Boyd looked at her curiously. "Didn't I ask you?"

Grace looked amused. "No."

"Oh. Well, will you marry me?" he asked casually.

"Why now?" Grace replied.

"Why not?"

"Alright then."

"Great."

"Sooo," Spencer said after a few moments, "Does this mean you two are…?"

"…Getting married?" Frankie finished for him, her excitement barely contained.

Boyd grinned stupidly. "Looks that way, doesn't it?"

Grace tucked herself neatly under his arm and curled into his side. "It certainly does."

The calm, stately atmosphere of Boyd's house was then broken by Mel squealing loudly. She did an odd little victory dance on the rug before proceeding to jump up and down on the armchair.

"See what you're done to poor Mel?" Frankie said, shaking her head.

"Tragic," Spencer agreed. "Want to join her?"

Frankie grinned. "Hell yeah!"

"I hope that sofa wasn't expensive," Grace said to Boyd as they watched the children graduate from the armchair to the big couch, trampolining it as hard as they could without falling on their arses or their faces.

"If they break it, they can pay for it," Boyd replied nonchalantly. "Top up?"

"Wouldn't say no."

"Hey!"

"Shit!" Boyd exclaimed, spilling wine all down him. He looked up and glared at Mel. "What?"

"It's almost midnight!" she said, still bouncing, oblivious to the death ray vision trained on her.

"Oooo, snogs all round!" Spencer announced with great enthusiasm. "Well, except for you, Boyd."

And with that, the great lion rose to his feet, sending his minions running for cover. "When you all start acting like adults," he said in irritation.

"We learnt from you and Grace," Frankie replied, peeping over the top of the couch.

Boyd shrugged. "Fair point. Don't worry, I'm not going to yell or shout or lay the blame for this whole thing at anyone's feet." He took a deep breath. "I just wanted to say that this is the best Christmas I've ever had. Thank you." He looked around the room. "All of you."

Frankie was the first to inch forward, like the scout that made sure there were no traps. If she suddenly lost her head, Spencer and Mel had found a secret way out of the room. The loss of Frankie would upset them, but in war, sacrifices had to be made and both Mel and Spencer would carry on bravely.

"Well, this has been a great Christmas for me too," she said. "Better than anything I had planned."

Grace stood up and joined them. "Me too. For more than one reason." She slipped her hand into Boyd's and squeezed.

"Well, since there's no impending danger…." Spencer appeared and joined them. "Thanks for making this Christmas memorable."

Mel was the last to appear. "I don't do Christmas, but this festive time is meant for families, and…well…we're not perfect. In fact, we're totally dysfunctional. We'd give real families a run for their money." She sighed. "I guess what I'm trying to say is that during this festive time that is meant to be shared with loved ones and family, I'm glad you're mine."

"Loved ones or family?" Frankie asked with a grin.

"Both."

Boyd put his arm around Mel's shoulders. "I'll second that."

"I'll third it," Grace agreed.

"Fourth for me," Spencer said.

Frankie was still grinning. "Don't worry, guys, I don't mind bringing up the rear."

"Oh, listen," Grace said, and they all fell silent as the sound of fireworks filled the night air outside.

Mel looked around. "Guess that means it's the New Year."

There was a moment's soppy silence as they all studied each other's faces, memorising the one moment of pure happiness.

"Right," Boyd said loudly. "Who wants another drink?"

"Me!" they all chorused.

WtD-WtD-WtD-WtD-WtD-WtD

*Several days later….*

All evidence of their game cleared away, the team started proper work again, and were busy reviewing a case when Frankie suddenly said, "Visors down, truncheons at the ready." Everyone turned to see the new DAC walking towards the offices, and very quickly they all looked very busy.

"Good morning, sir," Boyd greeted him.

"Peter," the DAC said, acknowledging the rest of the team with a nod. "I trust you had a good Christmas?"

"It was…different, sir," Boyd replied with a straight face while Mel and Frankie clapped their hands over their mouths to stop themselves from laughing out loud.

"Not bad, I hope?" the DAC asked, genuinely concerned (first time for everything).

"No, sir. And yours?"

The DAC rolled his eyes. "Stressful. You know what families can be like."

"I do indeed, sir," Boyd replied.

The rest of the team was now turning blue with suppressed laughter, but no one noticed. Well, the DAC didn't notice…thankfully. Though if there was a sudden thudding of bodies falling on the floor, Boyd would be hard pressed to explain it, so he decided intervention was necessary.

"Was there something we could help you with, sir?" the DSI asked. "Only we're a little busy." He gestured to the paper-strewn desks.

"Yes, I realise you're busy, so I won't keep you long." The DAC assumed a serious expression. "I just wanted to know why the DNA of a chicken was run through the system over the Christmas holidays."

"Professor Plum, revolver, conservatory," Boyd blurted out in a panic.

"Colonel Mustard, spanner, billiard room," Grace added quickly, looking rather guilty.

"Miss Scarlet, candlestick, ballroom," Spencer piped up.

"Mrs White, rope, hall," Mel said, looking anywhere but at anyone else.

"Reverend Green, lead pipe, study," Frankie finished, sighing in relief.

The DAC merely nodded. "And here's me thinking it was Mrs Peacock with the dagger in the kitchen. Ah well. Carry on!"

FIN


End file.
